Keep Hope Alive
by Shadyyyy
Summary: XANA threw the world into chaos as he died. And now for twenty years, humanity has suffered his curse: Women are unable to make babies anymore. Now a hard-working Everyman in a struggling and war-torn Paris, Ulrich Stern is dragged into action by his old friends to save the human race once more. Rated T for Strong Violence and Language
1. Mo(u)rning

**So I am back once more, coming to you with a new story. I'm not sure on my update plans (I'll get to that later), but stick with me anyway. Welcome to my newest work, Keep Hope Alive. It is told entirely from Ulrich's point of view. There will be major character deaths, so be warned and don't flame when they happen.**

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**"Friendship is friendship. History is history."**

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**20 November, 2029.**

**7:30 AM**

**7,467 Days since last human birth.**

**1,628 Days since martial law was enacted in Paris.**

**Cause of Infertility Virus still unknown.**

**No Clinical Progress made as of yet.**

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**CHAPTER ONE: MO(U)RNING.**

_Ugh._

Alarm clock blaring in my ears, the same fucking "EEEEH-EEEH-EEEH."

It's nice to wake up in the same room day after day of waiting for society to collapse and to know it's still there. The cars are still running in the street, the protesters are still picketing; the police still ride around in their riot gear looking to quell protesters and whatever else is going on around here.

Paris right now is in a state of complete disarray. There is a war going on outside of the city. There are the rebels, or the "Lepers" as they are known (more of a designated name by the government to paint them in a negative and savage light, but the name has stuck regardless), and the government troops attempting to keep the Lepers out of the city. Everyone is living in fear right now, just waiting for the day (which should come any day now) when the government troops lose the battle and the Lepers come and take Paris and overthrow the government. The borders of Paris are almost completely locked down right now, except for a few refugees who tunnel their ways in. Other than that, you don't go anywhere without transit papers.

It's been twenty years, five months, and thirteen days since that day. The day XANA won. Well, a pyrrhic victory of sorts.

He died.

We beat him.

But then he cast his curse upon our world to end us forever. With his dying breath, he created a plague. Technically speaking, we have no idea if he even created this "disease", but it is definitely something only XANA could do. No human, or even God for that matter, is that creative and smart. Only XANA could come up with a surefire way to end things for his enemy. A genius way.

All he had to do was just flick the proverbial switch and turn of fertility. Incredibly simple and at the same time genius, it worked perfectly. Not only could women not reproduce anymore, but hysteria took over, and it took over quick. Initially we didn't even suspect him. The reports were sketchy as hell in the beginning. The newspaper reports called it a "virus." But none of these genius scientists could figure it out. The seven of us had a feeling, though. We couldn't tell another soul our hunch, even twenty years later we haven't discussed the matter with anyone else.

Speaking of which, my former friends are no longer a part of my life anymore. Well, all of them except for Odd Della Robbia. But even with Odd, I only see him every once every couple of weeks. He became a political cartoonist who was a part-time (and quite indiscreet) arms dealer for the Lepers. Every time I warned him about the dangers of being caught and executed by the government, he would just shrug it off and say something like, "Psh, don't worry about a damn thing, good buddy. Whatever happens, happens."

I haven't spoken to Jeremie in probably five or seven years. He told me he we couldn't see each other anymore because he was going on assignment. He had become a scientist who specialized in recombining DNA molecules. For years he told me he was going to solve the world's infertility issue by cloning. But in the end he just disappeared. Odd had mentioned something the last time I saw him about Jeremie being over in London still working on a cure.

Aelita is probably with him for that matter, as well. I haven't spoken to her since the last time I saw Jeremie. I assume she is with him as his assistant or something.

William and Laura grew pissed off and disillusioned once the plague started. So I just figured they were off fighting with the Lepers, trying to bring down the government. But I haven't seen them in long enough to really care what the hell they're doing.

And then there was _her._

_Yumi._

That…_Bitch._

I probably shouldn't call her that after all we've been through, but I really can't think of anything else to say. She stabbed me in the back practically and I haven't seen her since that day seven years ago. The day we said goodbye.

_Fuck. I try so hard to shake that day from my head. It's hard, but the more I think about it, the more it festers inside my head._

_Which reminds me…_

_SLAM! _

I banged the off button on my alarm clock before I threw the blankets off and hung over the side of my bed. Taking the scents of my room in once more, I smelled the ashtray next to me and what was probably gunpowder residue from a bombing outside. _Speaking of which, I have to check the news this morning. _

Rubbing my eyes, I stood up and stumbled over toward the window. Sliding open the shades, I looked out my apartment's window. It was a cloudy day, with not much going on in the street below other than the usual hustle and bustle of the big city. From where I stood, I could see the policeman at the corner of the street next to the newspaper office on his motorcycle overseeing the civilians walking along.

_What a relief, _I thought. _Maybe today we'll be able to have some peace just for once. _

I trudged over to the bathroom, taking a deep breath and letting the cold autumn air from outside into my lungs.

My third-story flat had only three rooms (A bedroom, kitchen/dining room combo, and a bathroom). I mean, that was all I needed. Nothing fancy. And it wasn't like I was dirt-poor either. Just thrifty is all.

Working as a private investigator, I deal with missing persons, stalkers, credit card fraud, adulterers. You name it, I do it. My office is located about a kilometers from my house, and I walk to work.

I have to stop by the coffee shop for breakfast on the way.

It's gonna be a long day.

* * *

_Something is definitely up,_ I thought as I walked to the coffee shop. With a lit Gauloises cigarette hanging from my mouth and a large trench coat covering my body, I was the typical hard-boiled gumshoe stereotype personified.

Everyone walking around me was crying. Not just emotional, but straight-up sobbing right now. _What the hell could be going on?_

Upon entering the coffee shop, it was all quiet, except for a few sniffles from a huge crowd that was huddled around the television hanging from the ceiling above the counter. Stepping through the crowd to the counter, I pulled out my wallet from my coat.

"Large extra-extra," I said the clerk, who was also very sad.

_Jesus Christ, did the fucking Lepers kill the president?_

"2 euro," she said, wiping her eye.

"Excuse me," I asked her after I handed her the money. "But what exactly is everyone so emotional this morning?"

"You don't know?" She responded quietly, handing me my coffee.

"No, I suppose I don't,"

"Baby Johann was murdered early this morning."

My face just about dropped.

Baby Johann was an international celebrity, and he was born right into his fame. He was the youngest person on the planet, and a tragic reminder of the likelihood of our own extinction.

Born Johann Strahm in Munich, Germany, to working class couple Lars and Maria Strahm, he grew up under the watchful eye of religious groups, bullshit tabloid dirt rags, and the whole fucking world. When he hit adolescence, he struggled to live under the spotlight of those paparazzi assholes.

"What happened?" I asked the clerk.

"He refused to sign an autograph for some zealot and spit in his face. That same zealot stabbed him to death. And then an angry mob beat the murderer to death."

"Jesus Christ," I muttered.

She passed my coffee as I thanked her.

_Wow. Baby Johann's dead? That's a serious fucking blow to society, _I thought as I exited the shop and approached a news kiosk about ten meters away on the sidewalk. Sure enough, there it was in black and white all over the goddamn thing: BABY JOHANN MURDERED AT AGE 20, WORLD IN SHOCK AND MOURNING.

Putting a cigarette between my lips, I flicked open my lighter and ignited the flint when all of a sudden…

**BANG!**

I found myself thrown from my feet and onto the ground by the force of an explosion. All I could hear was a monotonous ringing in my ears that seemed to amplify with each passing second. _What the hell had just happened?_

Turning my head around, I realized the coffee shop had just been bombed. Smoke, flames and ash poured out of the side of the building. I was covered in dust and rubble, and couldn't hear a goddamn thing except for a horrid ringing. _Great._

Just another day in the neighborhood.

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**So, this is the beginning! Let me know what you think so far. By the way, I only have one more chapter already written, and being Bipolar mixed with my ADHD meds make it near impossible to constantly work anymore. So don't get upset if I don't update enough. That being said, I do know what is going to happen, who will live and who will die, and also be prepared for some graphic violence in later chapters. And to my American readers, have a wonderful Fourth of July!**


	2. Hello

**Chapter Two: Hello**

As I walked into my office, I removed my overcoat and all but fell into my chair. Putting another cigarette in my mouth, I sighed as I shuffled through my blazer's pockets to find my lighter.

A cluttered desk and many filing cabinets populated the moderate-sized room, in addition to many newspaper clippings and a vintage poster for the neo-noir film "Kiss Me Deadly", a movie nearly 80 years old. On the desk there was also a full ashtray and a bottle of Marsch, which was a strangely popular hard liquor. Marsch was an interesting blend of vodka and a flavored energy drink.

Suddenly, the door in my office was opened slightly, grabbing my attention. Looking up, I saw my secretary Pauline sticking her head through the door. She was a middle-aged woman with flamboyant white hair curled strangely who had only recently acquired my position, since her predecessor was sent to prison for credit-card fraud.

"Monsieur Stern, you have a woman here waiting to see you," she said, as I raised my eyebrow.

"And what is her name?"

"She didn't give one."

I sighed and put my cigarette back in its pack.

"Very well. Send her in."

Pauline nodded and closed the door behind her.

Looking down at my desk, I noticed the dates on the files were six months old.

_Shit!_

"PAULINE!" I bellowed at the top of my lungs.

"Yes sir?" She answered from behind the door.

"I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO KEEP THIS OUTDATED CRAP OFF MY DESK!"

"Sorry, sir!"

"FUCK!" I exclaimed as I slammed my fists down on the desk with considerable force. _How the fuck am I supposed to run a responsible detective service with all this bullshit on my desk?_

In the middle of my brief fit of petulance, there was a rap on my door.

"Come in," I moaned into my palms.

When the door opened, an all-too familiar voice reared its ugly head.

"Hello, Ulrich."

I removed the palms from my face and my reaction was simple:

"Hi Yumi."

* * *

_Oh, for the love of God, what could she possibly be doing here?_

Since we said goodbye, Yumi became arguably the most wanted woman in France for one simple reason: She is the leader of the Lepers. That being said, her appearance was unknown, just her name, which was slipped through to the government by accident in a botched e-mail to her.

Leaning back in my chair, I let out arguably the biggest sigh of my life and pushed my bangs back with my hands.

She had changed none in the period of time since I said goodbye to her. Her raven hair still parted to one side behind her ear, and still dressed masculine, in worn-out jeans and Pink Floyd t-shirt.

"How've you been?" She asked with a smile.

_How have I been, _I wondered, staring back at her, a smirk starting to form on my lips. _What a tough question to answer, Yume._

"Well," I began, looking up. "The last seven years have been like… Did you ever see those _Prison Love _movies when we were younger?"

"They've been spent like that or they've been spent watching them?" She asked, eliciting a chuckle from me in a rare moment of intentional connection on my part.

"I have missed you," she added.

After looking into her deep eyes for a moment, I snapped back into reality.

"Could I offer you a drink?" I asked, trying to hide my emotions. Past experiences have left me convinced that Yumi Ishiyama can read my emotions really well, so whenever I was with her it was like playing poker, trying to keep her guessing constantly.

"Yeah, sure. What do you have?"

Leaning over and opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I picked up a bottle and set it on the desk along with two cups.

"Chardonnay?" Yumi questioned, quite taken aback at my selection. "Are you gonna take me out to dinner afterwards, too?"

"So, what do you want, what can I do for you? I'm very busy here." I was bullshitting through my teeth. Truth is, I really didn't want her around. She is too much of a hassle for me to deal with right now.

"Jesus Christ, Ulrich!" She exclaimed, shaking her head. "I know damn well you're not busy, seeing as you always avoided work like the plague, unless it actually was the plague!"

_Oh fuck, _I thought. _There goes that goddamned tone again. I never for once missed that in seven years._

"Yumi, I don't wanna argue!" I shot back, putting my hand up to her. "If you came back just to fuckin' argue, you can forget──"

"Shut the fuck up!" She shouted. "I didn't come back for you, or to argue with you, so you can throw that crap right out of your thick skull."

"Then what the hell do you want?"

"I need transit papers," She said, passing me a dossier. "It's important she gets to London."

I took the file and opened it, leaving me looking into a picture of someone I knew quite well.

"What have you dragged Aelita into?"

"I didn't drag her into anything she didn't already drag herself into."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You didn't get her caught up in your Leper bullshit, did you?"

"Fuck, no!" She replied emphatically.

"Then what does she need transit papers for?"

"It's irrelevant, can you get the damned papers or not?"

I shook my head many times before dragging my palms across my cheeks.

"Why'd you come to me? What makes you think I can get them?"

"Because your father is a government minister," Yumi reminded me, much to my annoyance.

"He'll never give them to me."

I wasn't lying, but I wasn't telling the truth either. My father is a bureaucrat but a surprisingly righteous one, unlike much of the Cabinet of France. That being said, he still can't help but be disappointed in me after all these years.

"He will if you ask him," Yumi insisted.

"Why should I help you?" I snapped, clearly exasperated.

Expecting a large argument probably resulting in me kicking her out of my office, I was surprised when she said nothing and instead tossed me a manila envelope.

Raising my eyebrow, I looked inside and saw several wads of folding cash inside.

"7,000 euro," she stated flatly.

"Does One-Eyed Nicky want me to get transit papers for Jimmy the Nose, too?"

"Cut the bullshit, Ulrich. I know you need the money."

She had a point: I could really use the money. I didn't need it, per se, but it could definitely be useful.

After looking inside the envelope once more, I set it on the desk and could not help but shake my head at the situation.

"Well?" Yumi asked, clearly expecting an immediate answer.

"I'll think about it," I replied, looking for her to leave.

"Please, Ulrich. This is very important."

I looked deep into Yumi's eyes and I could see it really was as important as she made it out to be.

Sighing again, I looked up and tapped my hands on the armrests of my chair.

"Alright, Yumi. You win. I'll get her the papers. One condition, though."

"What would that be?"

"I just want to know what she needs them for."

Yumi rolled her eyes before answering.

"I will tell you, but not just yet."

"Yumi…" I groaned.

"Believe me, you'll know soon why," She snapped. "Alright, I have to go. Great seeing you again."

"You too," I snarked.

And just like that, she got up and left the room. The only thing I could think of was "_Are you kidding me right now?"_

Just after I stared down at the envelope once again (Which I still couldn't believe she just left there seeing as I could just not get the papers and keep the money), I heard a quiet, yet distinct _pop_ from the outer room.

Standing up, I walked over to the door and turned the handle, then pushed it open.

The first thing I saw was Pauline sitting in her desk. But then there was something else. In the dead center of her forehead was a round, red hole with a small amount of fluid oozing out.

_Oh my God!_

Quick as lightning, I pulled my trusty .45 Smith & Wesson handgun out from the shoulder holster under my jacket and held it instinctively with both hands in front of me.

_RING! RING! RING!_

Jumping almost clean out of my skin, I realized the phone on my desk was ringing.

"Jesus," I cursed, breathing heavily.

Sliding my weapon back into its holster, I retreated back to my office, and looked at the caller ID:

_Restricted Number._

Not knowing really what else to do, I cautiously and slowly picked up the receiver and held it to my head.

"Ulrich Stern, detective," I said, quivering.

"I'm sorry about that," the voice of Queen Bitch of the Universe answered.

"Yumi, you fucking bitch! Why did you do that?" I yelled into the receiver.

"She saw me. Again, I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped."

"No one knows what you look like!" I reasoned.

"Well I'm keeping it that way."

"She didn't even know your name, you idiot! How exactly do you expect me to solve this problem? This is Paris, for Chrissake!"

"Easy. There's no mess to clean up besides the body. I used a .22, so it wouldn't leave an exit wound. Second, I checked that woman out before I came here, she is an unmarried loner with no family or friends. So no one will look for her. Third, by the time you go to the bathroom and get back, the body will be gone."

"How?" I asked, stupefied.

"I'm sending some Lepers over. Word of advice, don't come out of the bathroom for ten minutes once you go in there."

"You are a piece of work, Yumi. You went from savior of the human race to a cold-blooded murderer!"

"Who said I'm not still the savior of the human race?" She responded. "Goodbye and get in the bathroom."

The line disconnected then, and I went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Sitting down on the toilet, I thought to myself, _What the fuck just happened?_

**Well, there she is! Yumi has adapted a ruthlessly pragmatic existence now, so that kill right there is not extremely OOC given her circumstances. So that is all I have written so far, so future updates may be a little longer than usual. Anyways, drop some reviews and tell me what you think :D**


	3. The Clearing

**I told you guys my updates would be weird. Well I was telling the truth. That being said, I found time to write another chapter.**

**Chapter Three: The Clearing**

_Yumi, Yumi, fucking Yumi._

I spent that evening contemplating what had just happened earlier. Yumi Ishiyama really showed up and killed my secretary. Really? What had I done to deserve that? I mean, I run a legitimate detective agency, drink alcohol, and smoke cigarettes and not much else. Goddamn, I always knew she'd be back one day.

The next day was Saturday, and I planned on sleeping in. My plans were quickly shattered when my phone rang at 9:30 AM.

Without even raising my head, I picked up the receiver and answered.

"Stern," I groaned.

"Della Robbia," came a cheerful voice on the other end. "Wanna come over my place later?"

I lifted my head from the covers and yawned.

"Yeah, sure. Let me get dressed and we'll meet at the clearing."

"You got it." With that, Odd hung up.

Throwing the covers off me, I reached for the bottle of Marsch on the nightstand next to me and took a swig, swishing it around in my mouth. Despite what you may be thinking, I wouldn't call myself an alcoholic. I would classify it as more of a dependency than anything. I sat up in bed and yawned again, as I slicked my hair back from in front of my eyes. People who wear their hair covering their eyes should be fucking shot. Hate me all you want, it's my opinion. Standing up in only my boxers, I walked into the adjoining kitchen and started making coffee. Reaching for my pack of cigarettes, I stuck one in my mouth. After I flicked open my Zippo and struck the flint, there was a knock at the door. I shut my Zippo and put it on the counter.

"Who is it?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Police. Open up."

_Shit. What now? Damn!_

Despite my annoyance and lack of clothes, I unlocked the door and opened it. There was a short, balding detective in a long trench coat standing in the doorway.

"Ulrich Stern?"

"That's right."

"Detective Pierre Delacroix," The detective extended his arm, to which I shook. "May I come in?"

I bit my lip. "Yeah, sure."

The detective entered the kitchen and sat down at the table. I retreated to my bedroom to put some sweatpants on.

"Small place for a detective," Delacroix observed. He was right, but it didn't matter to me.

"I'm thrifty," I responded from the other room before walking back into the kitchen. "Sir, can I get you some coffee?"

"Ah, no thanks. I just had some on the way here."

I was getting impatient with this guy. What could he want? Yumi was pretty adamant about no one coming to question me about Pauline.

"So, what can I do for you?"

"Small matter of a missing person."

I began to sweat slightly. Hopefully he wouldn't notice, but then again, he is a cop.

"Who?"

"My wife."

I mentally breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled a notepad from the kitchen counter and sat down across from the detective.

"Don't take this the wrong way, sir. You're a cop ─ _detective_, actually. What do you need me for?"

The detective reached into his pocket. "Mind if I smoke?"

I slid him an ashtray. "Not at all."

Delacroix stuck a cigarette into his mouth and struck a match.

"She's not really missing," he continued, blowing the match out with smoke and throwing it in the ashtray. "But in terms of our marriage, she is."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

"I think she's cheating on me. I need you to find out if she is, and with who. Her name is Elisabeth Delacroix, and I would suggest looking in every bar in the area."

"No problem. I get paid upfront, and here's my card," I said, handing him my information.

Delacroix reached into his jacket and handed me a manila envelope rolled in a rubber band.

"Thank you, sir." I reached out and shook his hand.

"No problem. You can reach me on this number," He handed me a slip of paper.

"Will do."

With that, Delacroix left my apartment and closed the door. I could only smirk at the amount of paranoid men there are in the world. I mean, nobody trusts anyone anymore. It just goes with living in this crumbling society. Yet even now, in our darkest hours, women can still find time to cheat on their husbands. How's that for getting priorities straight?

* * *

Getting into my car, I drove for about ten minutes before I pulled into the parking lot of a small tavern., known as "La maison des vins". I exited my vehicle and opened the door of the bar, causing a bell to jingle.

The bartender took notice and waved me over. I waved back and approached the bar.

"Well, Stern. How are ya?"

"Good, frère," I yawned.

"Tired, are you?" He asked, amused.

"Yeah, I got a case this morning at home."

"On a Saturday?" He chuckled.

"Psh. Yeah, my luck, huh?"

"Definitely. "

"So what can I do for you, sir?" He asked me, wiping a glass with a rag.

"I'm here to see him."

"Oh, sure. Right this way!"

The bartender came around and tapped my shoulder. I followed closely behind as he approached a locked door with a number pad on it. He pressed several numbers, and then opened the door. This lead to a small hallway, at the end of which was almost three-meter high steel safe in the wall. He twisted the numbered knob, and the pressed his finger on a fingerprint scanner. He spun the turnstile and opened the door, which inside the safe was a hole in the floor.

"Stern, as always, good to see you."

"You too," I shook his hand and jumped in the hole. Seconds later it become completely pitch-black as he shut the safe's door.

Sneezing from the dust, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my Zippo and ignited the flint, illuminating the dirt tunnel. It was a long, almost 1500-meter walk in the dim light the lighter created, the only sounds were rats scurrying around somewhere. Once I reached the other side, I slid a shade in the ceiling open and climbed the makeshift ladder that had been built there.

Upon exiting, I reached into my coat and retrieved some sunglasses and put them on my face, as the light was blinding when you exit the tunnel.

When you exit the tunnel, you are in "The Clearing", as it is known. It is in the middle of heavy woods about 1000 meters outside of the city's walls.

As I waited for Odd to get here, I put a cigarette in my mouth with the intention of lighting it. But then something stopped me in my tracks. I looked forward, and I saw a large deer eating. It raised its head and looked at me. And just for a moment, I was once again reminded of the beauty of nature, and that the world is not too far gone. Something could still be done to make it better.

Then I was surprised when I someone came up behind me and jumped on my back.

"Yee-haw! Giddy up!"

I threw the person off and whipped out my gun, turning around and aiming it right in the face of the person.

There, on the ground in front of me, was Odd Della Robbia in all his man-child glory. He was dressed in a T-shirt with a very plunging neckline, which exposed a tattoo on his heart he'd rather not talk about. Odd had grown to be about a couple of inches shorter than me but half my weight. His hair hasn't changed in twenty years, and he still wore purple and a ridiculous grin on his face.

"You need to stop being so surprised, good buddy!"

"Damn it," I cursed with a smile, holstering my weapon and helping Odd off the ground. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!"

I gave Odd a big hug and we laughed into each other's arms. This is one friendship that has stood the test of time.

**Odd is the best. Love writing him. Anyway, see you next time.**


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